Chapter 2

With a frown, I stepped inside and switched on my phone's flashlight.

The beam swept across the cramped room.

I saw a table with a missing leg, a beat-up wardrobe, and stained foam mats scattered across the floor.

In the gap between the wardrobe and the wall, a tiny figure lay curled up. My daughter.

She wore a T-shirt way too big for her, the collar drooping and exposing her collarbones. She was so filthy that I couldn't even tell what her real skin color was.

She clutched an empty SpaghettiOs can, desperately digging her fingers inside to scrape out the last traces of sauce.

When the flashlight beam hit her, she jolted in fear, and the can dropped to the floor with a loud clang.

She tried to shrink back into the gap, but her feet slipped on the filthy floor, and she tumbled down.

My heart skipped a beat.

Five years ago, when I kicked them out, she was a baby swaddled in Mandy's arms. She had grown so much.

But how did she get so skinny, all skin and bones?

Mandy was so stubborn. She refused the fifty thousand I offered, had to play the saint. So this was where her pride got her?

She let our daughter become this to make me feel guilty?

Anger flared up inside me.

I marched over and snatched the girl up by the collar. "Where's your mom? Where's she hiding?"

She hung in midair, a scrawny kitten, arms and legs flailing.

She stared at me with terrified eyes, her lips cracked, bruises mottling her face. "Please don't hit me. Please."

Despite the grime and bruises on her face, I could still see my own features in her.

For some reason, irritation washed over me. I set her down. "I'm your dad."

She stared at me, like she was trying to wrap her head around that word "dad".

Then hope lit her eyes. She reached out her filthy hand, grasping for my pant leg. "Dad?"

Instinctively, I took a half-step back, dodging her hand, which was covered in grime.

Her hand hung in the air, the hope in her eyes fading. She lowered her head, picking at her dirty nails. "My mom said that my dad is a hero, and he'll come pick us up in a big car." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Just then, my phone rang, sharp and sudden in the dead silence.

Chloe's name flashed on the screen.

I picked up, my voice instantly softening from cold to gentle. "What's up?"

"Dylan, where did you go? Didn't you say you'd grab the ring after dropping me off? Why did you vanish?"

Chloe's playful, flirty voice drifted through the phone, sounding completely out of place in this grimy, foul-smelling apartment block.

I glanced at the moldy walls, then at the little girl huddled on the floor, shivering. I frowned even harder. "Something urgent came up. I'll be back as soon as I'm done."

"Don't take too long, okay? I'm waiting for you to come back and have dinner with me."

"Alright."

After hanging up, I looked around at this hellhole, and my patience snapped.

Mandy was hiding in the bedroom, obviously staging this sob story to squeeze more cash out of me.

"Mandy!" I shouted at the closed door. "I'm leaving the money here. Stop pretending you're dead."

I pulled out all the cash and threw it on the broken table. "Feed your kid. Look at her, skin and bones. If I see her like this again, you're in a psych ward. And don't use her to bother me. I don't need this."

The room stayed dead silent.

I let out a cold laugh, thinking Mandy was too guilty to show her face. I turned and strode out.

As I stepped out of the building, the harsh sunlight made me squint.

I pulled open the door of my sports car, about to slide in.

But somehow, I couldn't forget the dark purple marks around the girl's neck and the hungry look in her eyes as she scraped that empty.

She was so light. When I picked her up, it was like holding a bundle of dry twigs. One wrong move and she might break.

She was my daughter. Yet she lived worse than a stray dog.

If Mandy was squeezing me for cash, this was too high a price.

My grip on the car door tightened. My heart started racing.

"Damn it," I cursed, slamming the door. Then I spun around and charged back into that hellhole.